


We've Talked About Personal Space

by Erica



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Overthinking, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erica/pseuds/Erica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I found this<br/>Prompt: I want incredibly touchyfeely!Sherlock, and John initially being like "wtf? Get off me." but then relaxing and going with it because he understands Sherlock needs the contact.</p><p>Can be friendship of John/Sherlock, I'm easy :)</p><p>and so I wrote this as a response....I hope it's enjoyed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Talked About Personal Space

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% un-beta'd and written in the wee hours of the morning (3.49 am to be most accurate). So, please understand all mistakes are the property of a sleep deprived person. Thank You and Enjoy! :P

Sherlock was currently sitting on the edge of the couch, dawned in little more than his silk blue robe and a pair of boxers. It had been 3 days, 6 hours and 27.8 minutes since he had solved the last case that Lestrade had sent his way and Lestrade had yet to call upon him again. To say boredom was creeping upon the edges of Sherlock's conscience was to put it mildly, it was more banging against the doors of the palace and seeping through the cracks in the windows. His thoughts buzzing through his mind at such a speed it resembled nothing more than static. It was London for God's shake! Someone had to have been murdered in the last 3 days!! This was insufferable. Why did no one understand this was going to lead to some very...unwanted reactions on Sherlock's part? Things that, for Sherlock, moved in stages.

___________________________________________________________________

Stage one: meant that he would start over thinking. His brain deducing everything he saw in hopes to find some thread of information that he could pull at until it unraveled and he could latch onto something truly interesting...or exceedingly boring in which case he would move onto the next thing his eyes glanced at. This usually lasted for the first day, occasionally venturing into the morning of the second if he allowed himself to wander the streets of London at night. That had not been an option for Sherlock after his brain had deduced that John had had a...questionable encounter with the temporary receptionist at the clinic during their lunch hour. John had been so angry at the "invasion of privacy" that Sherlock had spent the evening cleaning up the kitchen to apologise. He supposed he probably shouldn't have told John the extent to which he knew the details....social norms, how so incredibly, uninteresting. At least it had distracted him somewhat from the boredom, but not enough to last. So, in return, he had been pushed into stage two, destruction.

 

Now, Sherlock wasn't certain why exactly it happened, he supposed it must have been his brains feeble attempt to shut up the static (though it was utterly useless), but he found himself spending the second day without a case just ambling about the flat,picking up items and depositing them in a different location. Perhaps on the floor, chair or table. One time he had wedged a first edition of Pride and Prejudice between the back of the fridge and the wall. It had been a simple task he had done to prove to himself that the dimensions did in fact fit there, after he had picked the book up. He had also decided that day to test the variety of acids he had stored in the back cupboard, on the kitchen table in order to find out their effects on oak. John had also not appreciated that and it had once more, it resulted in Sherlock apologising and he was dragged along to replace the item. Which had done nothing to alleviate the boredom and had in fact worked as the catalyst for the entry to the third stage. The worst one of all. The one Sherlock exerted the most amount of effort to avoid. It was the most torturous and embarrassing of all the stages. What Mycroft had once referred to as Sherlock's "clingy" stage.

__________________________________________________________________

 

Where was John? What could he possibly be doing that was more important than being here? With Sherlock. Who was unbelievably bored, and slowly beginning to feel extremely alone. So, with that, Sherlock pulled his phone out from the pocket of his robe and turned on his side to compose a text.

 

Where are you?- SH

 

Sherlock, I am in work. I told you this about an hour ago.-J

 

Ugh! How unbelievably ordinary.-SH

 

Well, I'm sorry it couldn't be something more interesting but without a case, one of us needs to get money for rent.- J

 

Don't be stupid John. Mycroft would pay.- SH

 

We're not taking money from your brother Sherlock. I need to get back to work. I will see you later.- J

 

I'm bored. Come home now.-SH

 

John.-SH

 

John.-SH

 

John.-SH

 

I'm bored John.- SH

 

John. Lestrade just text. We have a case.- SH

 

That should get him here.

___________________________________________________________________

 

It was no more than 15 minutes before a breathless John fumbled up the stairs of 221B huffing out puffs of air. It only took him taking a single step into the flat before John caught on to the fact that Sherlock, had in fact, lied.

 

"Oh you bastard!"

 

Sherlock moved slightly to see John and concentrated on focusing his eyes on John's face, and not on his surroundings, at the sound of his voice.

 

"It took you longer than usual to get here. 15 minutes? You must be getting out of shape John." he said languidly from his position on the couch.

 

"You absolute bollocks!" John huffed and spun on his heel, as if to leave the room again and in an instant Sherlock was on his feet.

 

"Wait John..." Sherlock tentatively touched John's shoulder and watched as his smaller friend spun around to glare up at the taller man.

 

"No Sherlock! I have a job to go to! I rushed away from 4 patients, very sick people Sherlock, in case that large brain of yours has deleted that tidbit of information! I AM NOT staying in with you because you are bored!" Sherlock had not anticipate John being that angry with him. Exasperated, of course, that Sherlock could manipulate to get what he wanted...but angry? Anger just made John more stubborn, thus impossible to manipulate.

 

John pushed his shoulder to the side, forcing Sherlock's hand to fall from it and he went to move away again. Sherlock couldn't think straight, the static was building to an almost unbearable level and Sherlock just needed someone to focus his attention on. He needed something. Contact. A focal point to pin his mind to. He needed...John.

 

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you alright?" The anger in John's voice disappearing rapidly and being replaced by something akin to worry.

 

Sherlock tried to focus on saying the words. Telling John that he needed to stay here with Sherlock.

 

John pressed his hand into Sherlock's shoulder and began to lead him back to the couch. The contact gave Sherlock something to focus on, the pressure- strong and stead, just like John himself. The callused fingers giving away John's hard working past in the military, though they had softened up somewhat from his integration back into civilian life. He moved with a purpose that reminded Sherlock of himself on a case...he quite enjoyed the idea of him being John's case. Especially if it resulted in John's hands remaining on his person.

 

By the time Sherlock had been pushed back down onto the couch the static had subsided enough to allow him to formulate coherent speech.

 

"Sherlock?" John tried again.

 

"I'm fine John," he attempted to reassure, though the slight tremble in his voice gave away that he was somewhat off kilter.

 

"Sherlock", ah! Exasperation. Just the thing Sherlock had wanted. But now, he found himself wanting nothing more than to sleep. Boredom forgotten for a moment, as his bout of strong static had drained the thrumming energy out of his veins and into those of Dr. John Hamish Watson, who now was entirely focused on Sherlock.

 

"I just feel quite...poorly. Perhaps I shall go to bed." Sherlock said, though he didn't move from the spot where John's hands kept him. A silence settled for a few moments as John swept his gaze over Sherlock's body before returning it to Sherlock's eyes and moving back to settle on his haunches.

 

"Poorly indeed, mate, if you're willing to sleep", he gave a small, warm smile. Sherlock, returned, what he hoped was something similar. "Indeed".

 

"Right," John rubbed his hands over his own thighs before pushing himself up into a full stance, "Well, I've already told them I had to leave for an emergency", he said striping off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack after stuffing the scarf into the sleeve, "I might as well stay".

 

"Quite." Sherlock nodded, feeling slightly guilty about the fact John had been forced to leave his work in such a rush, though not enough for it to be more than a fleeting moment. "I think I'll-" he nodded toward his bedroom and John nodded in response.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Sherlock emerged from his room almost 3 hours later having, rather surprisingly, slept the entire time. John noted that the detective seemed far more relaxed than he had when John had arrived home. Sherlock had seemed so...odd was too vague a word when referring to a Holmes but, un-Sherlock- or perhaps too much like Sherlock, that it had fried his brain- but either way the detective had seemed lost in himself when the doctor had turned to leave earlier. Only calming down following the Doctors intervention.

 

 

"Feeling better?" John asked.

 

"Much." was Sherlock's reply.

 

"Good!" John smiled from his armchair and watched as the detective wandered forward towards him. Once he reached the chair Sherlock leaned forward. Almost bending himself in half to look at what John was reading, having to steady himself by placing a hand on John's knee.

 

"What is this?" Sherlock asked while leaning in closer, applying more pressure onto the Doctors knee.

 

"A medical journal." John cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly at the invasion of his space by his best friend.

 

"Oh", was all he got in response though the detective didn't make any indications of moving from his current position.

 

"Sherlock?"

 

"Yes John?" Sherlock queried, turning his head to the side of that his face was so close their noses almost touched and hot breath ghosted across John's skin. It was oddly intimate, not that Sherlock appeared to notice and John could feel himself grow more uncomfortable- though this time it was at the growing affection that was taking place in his stomach...and other lower regions at the close contact.

 

"Do you remember when we had that talk about personal space?" Sherlock looked almost surprised for a moment, and a flash of what seemed to be disappointment, moved across his features before he replied,

 

"Of course. My apologies." and removed his hand from the good doctors leg and straightened, fixing his suit jacket, that he had apparently changed into after his sleep.

 

"Tea?" was the next thing to leave Sherlock's lips.

 

"Please." was Johns response.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

John began to realise that the rest of his evening seemed to move about in the same way as that earlier encounter. Constant moments of Sherlock invading his personal space for long moments until John reminded him that he was doing it once more. Sherlock may be oblivious to a lot of things, but even the socially impaired Sherlock Holmes had to be aware that he was repeating the same mistake continuously in such a short period of time. He was, after all, a genius of sorts.

 

But it was around this time as well, that John began to notice that in the moments where Sherlock was not in direct contact with John's person, the detective would being to look as though he was losing himself in his mind again and his skin would take on this almost grey tinge to it making the man look poorly once again. It was then, in those moments that Sherlock seemed to force himself to seek out John for a while before being told off, where he would continue to be Sherlock's own version of normal, for 30 minutes or so before he would seem to get lost once more.

 

After the twelfth time Sherlock had come to grab John's arm and move it under the pretense of "pressing medical understanding", John decided to ask Sherlock what exactly the man needed from him.

 

Pulling his arm out of Sherlock's grasp John looked up at a somewhat perplexed Sherlock.

 

"Sit." John said nodding his head toward the couch a bit away from him.

 

"John-" Sherlock began but John interrupted repeating, "Sit." though this time with a bit more of his military voice behind it, which worked as well as it did in the army, and Sherlock sat without further protest.

 

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong or do I have to guess?" John asked.

 

"I don't know what your-"

 

"Don't play the idiot Sherlock. It doesn't suit you." John warned and Sherlock looked at him with the expression of a child who had been caught doing something they had been expressly told not to do.

 

"I..." Sherlock looked down at the floors and from what John could see, his expression took a frustrated form.

 

"Sherlock, it is okay to tell me. I won't judge." John tried to reassure and the detective looked back up, searching for some sign of a lie in his words- though he found none. Just simple sincerity.

 

"I just need the static to stop. The thoughts and meaningless, ceaseless deduction to end. I need it to be quiet." Sherlock all but whispered in the direction of John.

 

John knew that Sherlock's brain worked in a way that was unlike any other. The man could calculate anything at the speed of light and constantly pulled information from the filing cabinets in his brain to solve the mysteries an entire force couldn't piece together with a lifetime to do it. John had always marveled at that ability, but he had never thought about what it must be like when that active brain was given nothing to pick apart. By the looks of the somewhat broke man in front of him, what it did was far more excruciating from the boredom  us mere mortals are faced with when left with little to stimulate us for any length of time.

 

"How can I do that? Make it quiet I mean?" John asked, though he had a vague idea. He may not be Sherlock Holmes, but he could certainly put one and one together and be confident it made two.

 

Sherlock actually looked embarrassed with the thought of having to say it out loud, his ears and high points of his cheeks tinged in a rose petal red that flushed delicately against alabaster skin. "Contact." Was all he managed to get out before dropping his gaze back down to the floor. The embarrassment just a little bit too much for the man to handle.

 

"Do you need me to be in contact with you, is that what you're asking?"

 

He nodded.

 

"And that makes your head quieten?"

 

Another nod, "It gives me something to focus on. It's like, it slows down the words in my head so they're not just static floating about, but they're grounded. Rooted. You keep me grounded. Better than anyone else..."

 

John's own breath hitched at that.

 

 "Okay." John said and Sherlock's head snapped up at that.

 

"What?"

 

"Okay" John repeated and moved from his chair toward the couch. He tapped a Sherlock's leg with his hand when he approached, signalling for the man to move down a bit so John could slot himself between Sherlock and the arm- giving him something to lean comfortably against before he went to pull the detective in so that his head rested on his shoulder, tucked just beneath his chin.

 

Sherlock tensed for a moment,holding his breath, before he moved suddenly tucking his feet up to the side and becoming more comfortable and then, just as sudden as the movements had been- his muscles seemed to relax until all that supported the detective, was John.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The two remained like that for what could have been hours, or a couple of minutes before John spoke,

"Has it quietened down?", and gave a quick squeeze to Sherlock's arm.

                                                     

The detective nuzzled in closer and John let out a small laugh at the movement.

 

"Yes. It's far more calm, though the slight buzz is still somewhat irritating, though far less painful."

 

"Good." John stated and a silence formed for a moment before John broke it again.

 

"Sherlock?"

 

Sherlock responded by moving his head in such a way as to look up at the doctor while maintaining the current about of contact, "yes?".

 

"Could I try something?" He said looking down intensely at the man beneath him, his gaze flicking between Sherlock's eyes and his lips, "If you wouldn't mind?".

 

Sherlock seemed surprised by the sudden interest John was showing in him (though if the detective was really as observant as he believed himself to be he would have noticed that interest a long time ago) but just licked his lips ever so slightly before replying with, "If you so wish."

 

With that permission John's hand moved to grasp Sherlock's chin lightly, tilting it upward softly before bending down to place a small, but not too chaste of a kiss, to the other man's lips. He pulled back with a soft smile, seeing that the detective was yet to open his eyes.

 

"Now what is it like?" John asked.

 

"Silent" was Sherlock's reply.

 

<< The End >>

 

A/N: That ended up being far longer than I intended it to be! But I hope it was close enough to what you wanted! :L

 Please any feedback is welcome, be it that you enjoyed it or you have some constructive criticisim!

Erica x


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